


Home is where the heart is

by paper_boat



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Comfort, Developing Friendships, F/M, Family of Choice, Fluff, Found Family, It's Soft, Romance, alternative takes on a few episodes, everyone is soft, or some missing scenes, this is comfort-writing okay, wardlow is home for everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paper_boat/pseuds/paper_boat
Summary: They say home isn't a place, it's a person.Or, in that case, a bunch of people.---Inspired by this post on Tumblr: "Sometimes a family is a lady detective, her lady’s maid, a child thief, a lesbian doctor, a butler, two communist ex-dockers turned taxi drivers, a fussy old aunt, a Protestant constable and a long suffering inspector."
Relationships: Hugh Collins/Dorothy "Dot" Williams, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 35
Kudos: 89





	1. Phryne (home is where the heart is)

**Author's Note:**

> hello lovely readers,  
> yes, I'm weak like that. I only have three episodes left before I'm done with watching the show so I'm desperately trying to delay the inevitable by comfort-writing. I have no idea where I'm going with this, so you know what, I'll just follow my inspiration wherever it takes me - but I intend to explore the relationships between the members of our favourite found family, with a little bit of character study from times to times ♡
> 
> Not beta'd, English isn't my first language - I'll gladly fix any grammar or spelling mistakes if you let me know. Enjoy !

When she comes back from England the very first time, Phryne is secretly relieved that trouble finds her so quickly and so easily. That way, she doesn’t have time to feel, or to be, alone.

Of course, Mac greets her on the docks and Phryne is delighted to be reunited with her. It’s good to be back in Melbourne, and she’s actually not _that_ reluctant to see Aunt P again, despite her saying so. One look around is enough to know that while everything has changed, everything also strangely remained the same, yet she doesn’t dwell on this. Instead, and as usual, Phryne does not waste a minute before she throws herself in the whirl of life: she happily accepts the invitation to the luncheon… and things go rather quickly from there. First it’s a murder, then a soirée, followed by a rather interesting dance, and an investigation that takes her, two communist taxi drivers and her new maid, from danger to danger until she narrowly escapes death in the Turkish baths.

Not bad for a first week.

Then, she doesn’t really plan anything. It only feels natural that Dot stays with her, and despite Bert’s occasional grumblings, he and Cec prove to be only useful, but discreet, competent and trustworthy. So of course she invites them all to celebrate their shared victory and her new business – and she’s perfectly happy to make room for two more when Constable Collins and the Inspector show up at the restaurant. Phryne isn’t expecting anything from this gathering (how could she?), but she’s glad to be surrounded for this occasion: solving murder is great, but team work is better. Naturally Mac would’ve stayed with her had she asked, but the doctor has work to do and Phryne would hate to impose. She assumes that it’s a good thing that Dot is here then, and the few days between the first case and her moving in to Wardlow go by swimmingly.

Dot is sweet, charming and resourceful: Phryne is delighted when she sees that Dot acts a little more comfortable around her. It’s only normal that she asks for her opinion on the room she’s designing for her at Wardlow.

It’s not so much that Phryne fears being alone, not exactly. But she doesn’t _like_ it. Although it does feel good to sometimes have a respite from the excitement she fills up her life with, she’s overall much more comfortable when there are people around, whether it’s in her bed or in her life. Smiles and laughs push back the shadows of her mind in the void where they belong. The presence of the living keeps her safe from the ghosts of the past, from the grief, from the trauma. It’s Janey, Foyle, the war, her father, René. It’s her broken family, the drama, the hurt, the lies. It’s the men she wasn’t able to save, all the times she failed and felt like she wasn’t good enough. It’s the others who hurt her, used her, betrayed her. Her regrets, her scars, her fears, her tears. And so the people in her life prevent her demons from preying on her, they are the fire that keeps the monsters away, a warming light in a dreadful night. It’s a little selfish, maybe, and yet no one seems to be complaining. Besides, she genuinely likes the people she surrounds herself with, always. Alternatively, she _could_ spend time with Melbourne’s high society and ladies at tea parties, were not most of them so dull and hypocrites – she sees enough at Aunt P’s gatherings. Phryne doesn’t want people for the sake of people: she might be a little extra but she’s not that desperate for attention. She feels like she’s been alone for most of her life: she can handle herself, she knows how to care for herself. It’s just better when it’s shared with the right people. And she finds that, with the chosen few, with those she actually lets into her life, she doesn’t only take – she gives, as much as she can.

Not all of them stay, though. Some people only come and go, friendly faces, brief encounters, reminders from the past that show up only to leave again. And it’s fine, really. She’d hate to force people to stay, to tie them down, to keep them for her, by her side, at all costs. Freedom is a precious thing.

So, when Jane agrees to stay here, _with her_ , when they form this unlikely mother-daughter relationship, Phryne’s heart sings. Quickly enough, Jane becomes part of the household, and it all seems natural.

Cec and Bert simply never quit, and that’s good enough for her: they are always here when she needs them, and she never hesitates to help them for anything.

When the Inspector turns up more often than not in her parlour after a case to discuss, play chess, have a drink or anything really, she never turns him down. She finds endearing how Mr. Butler always prepares an extra set of Jack’s favourite sandwiches, and how her inspector is greeted more and more casually by everyone. It doesn’t even come as a surprise when he finds his way around her kitchen, one day. And around her bedroom, later.

Hugh is sometimes with him, sometimes not, and very often in the kitchen with Dot. He’s always a little more embarrassed, afraid to disturb, maybe a little more reluctant than the others. But when he turns up one day to ask Phryne for _womanly advice_ about Dot, she makes him sit and they talk for two hours uninterrupted. And when Dot decides that she wants to stay, when she confronts Hugh to keep working _for_ _her_ , Phryne is moved beyond words – and Hugh earns himself a designated seat in the parlour. 

Mac has obviously a free pass, her own whiskey bottles, and a spare of Phryne’s house key – just in case.

Aunt P. is a scarce presence at first, but as months go by, and especially after Guy’s departure and Arthur’s death, she finds herself every weekend at Wardlow for at least an hour or more. She goes along extremely well with Dot and Jane, and always makes sure to look annoyed when Cec and Bert show up - even if everyone knows it’s just pretence: she’s considerably softened, now.

And Mr. Butler… well, he’s the soul of Wardlow, and Phryne knows that he keeps an eye on everyone. And on her, too. So, much like her two communist friends, he never resigns, and only adds one more plate or two at the dinner table in the evenings. He and Dot always prepare extra portions – of tea, of scones, of sandwiches, and there’s always more food and drinks than needed for the four permanent residents.

And just like that, when Phryne opens up the door of her parlour one evening to find the Inspector casually with talking with Mac, Cec with Mr. Butler, Bert with Aunt P. and Hugh, and Dot with Jane, she feels a wave of pride washing over her, flooding her senses with relief and love.

She knows that she will never be alone, and that after all, she has found her family.


	2. Jack & Hugh (and that time where Hugh had a place to sleep, after all)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative take on episode 3x04 ("Blood and Money") where, after all, Hugh does find a place to sleep.

Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was a serious man, both as a police officer and as a private man. Serious was good, serious meant things were stable and stability had helped him survive the years after the war. He liked to have a plan, to know where to go, to be in control of things. Not obsessively, but just enough so that things would go well.  
He also liked the people around him to be serious, and he even expected it when these people were his colleagues. Of course, Miss Phryne Fisher was a brilliant exception (and he not so secretly loved it), but when it came to other inspectors, to constables, to the people he worked with on a daily basis, he liked them to be serious.  
Because to him, serious meant hardworking, precise, focused, honest. Serious meant loyal. Serious meant worthy of respect and trust. And a serious man was a good man.  
Jack had thought for most of his life that George Sanderson was a serious man, until he found out he was a manipulative one.

But he knew that Constable Hugh Collins, despite some rather remarkable outbursts of awkwardness, was a good man. A serious one. He liked him, Collins, and it was easy to work with him even though he was not quite capable of resisting Miss Fisher’s influence when she decided to meddle on a case. Meaning, all the time. But Jack did not blame Hugh: the Inspector knew first-hand how hard it was to deny Miss Fisher anything… and he didn’t actually know anyone who successfully ever did that.  
So when he turned up at the station and found his Constable asleep in the prison cells, Jack was surprised but not worried. He had listened to Hugh’s sorry explanations with a hint of amusement in his eyes before sending him to Wardlow. An unfortunate situation, but not uncommon. In his younger years, he had also slept more than once at the station, to solve a case, or just not to go back to an empty home and a cold bed.  
What Jack also liked about Collins, although that was a rather selfish motive, was that his constable was a terrible liar and the Inspector could always tell when his constable was hiding something from him.  
And so he did not question Hugh’s decision to apply for the position at City Central. He was not thrilled by it, but he would never deny a promising young man the opportunity for a promotion. Only, it seemed that things were not as simple as they were, but then the Honourable Phryne Fisher had walked in and then out, taking Jack with her away from Hugh’s problems, he had not given it any more thoughts.

That is, until he found his constable sleeping in a police car the next morning. Now _that_ was worrying. Although he remained impassive, when Hugh confessed that he had nowhere to sleep because his own mother threw him out after his conversion, Jack was, for once, at a loss for words. He usually knew what to say: though he was not particularly talkative and terrible at small talk, he prided himself on giving reasonable and sound advice. Except when it came to people’s problems – personal problems. Easier to impress a hardened criminal than to comfort a friend, actually – unless maybe it was Miss Fisher, because somehow he knew just _how_ to be there for her.

But Collins was a different case. He was not just a constable, he was a friend too… and Jack had a feeling that Hugh sometimes saw him as father figure, even though he was way too respectful to ever say it. However, Inspector Robinson was not a father. He had never been one and by the look of things he would never be one, and his own experiences with father figures in his life had been rather disappointing. For this exact reason, Jack remained silent – one could even say silently awkward, for such a confession screamed for a word of comfort that his brain would not find. It was easier to compliment Collins on his work and to carry on.  
Which did not prevent Jack from thinking about the situation all afternoon, before the case forced him to focus on other matters. Only after they caught Dr. Harcourt was he able to have a word with Collins again, to let him know that the position he sought so dearly was gone. It wasn’t a surprise for him, but by the look of it, his young constable was clearly not expecting the outcome. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’m very happy you’ll be staying here.” Collins nodded briefly, tears brimming in his fair eyes. “And, Collins?  
\- Yes sir?  
\- I have a spare room. At home. It’s… small but, I hope, welcoming enough.  
\- No, sir, I can’t…  
\- It’s an order, constable. You’ll be my guest this evening, and we’ll think about a solution tomorrow. I think… I think I know someone who might be able to help you."

* * *

Jack had not really thought about it, but it seemed like the best thing to do. The only thing, actually. He would not let Hugh Collins sleep on the cell's bed, nor in a car, not on his watch. And certainly not while he was the young man's boss. So, after Hugh had reluctantly agreed to his offer, he'd put him in a car with his young and hopefully reformed criminal Ned, and dropped the young constable at his place before leaving for St Kilda - he had a delivery to make and an issue to solve.  
This time he let himself in, and he was greeted by jazz notes coming from the parlour. Wardlow always seemed to be waiting for him, and as soon as he Ned was reunited with his brother, he was left alone with Miss Fisher and Dot in the cosy room. And suddenly, it seemed harder than what he had rehearsed earlier in his head.

"Miss Fisher... Phryne. Could I have a word?  
\- Of course, inspector. Dot, would you please help poor Mr. Butler? Make sure our guests don't give him too much trouble." She had a sweet smile for her maid who nodded politely, but her eyes remained on the Inspector, and he sighed a little to audibly. "Sounds important, Jack."  
"It's about Collins.  
\- Hugh? Is he alright? Dot wouldn't tell but obviously something's off...  
\- Yes, well, he's been under a lot of strain. Apparently his mother threw him out because he's converted, he was denied a promotion and he tried to resign from the police force earlier tonight." Phryne's face fell, and he felt suddenly relived that the young Dot wasn't with them.  
"What!? What did you tell him?  
\- I refused to accept his resignation, of course. And told him to have a think, instead.  
\- And...?  
\- And I offered to let him stay at my place for the night."  
He had done it with no afterthought - only because it was the sensible thing to do - but he couldn't help but feel a strange kind of joy at the sight of Phryne's delicate features relaxing. She took a sip, shook her head.

"Thank God you were here, Jack." Their eyes met briefly, and he was reminded too vividly of the silent words that echoed their exchange, those they shared not so long ago. _The man who does the right thing. The noble thing..._ He cleared his throat.  
"Yes, but, erm, it’s no long-term solution. My house is..." _not a home,_ "... it's not designed to have a guest."  
He had done his best, since he moved in his new house after the divorce. It was a nice though small house, perfect for a single man who did not spend much time indoors. He had not lied to Hugh - his place was welcoming, but it also was not the kind of home that Wardlow was for them. It did not give the comfort of a place filled with warmth, nor provide an escape from the violence of the world outside. His house was, well, a house.  
A serious house.  
Of course, his former home - his and Rosie's, would have been much better. But it was gone now. He had kept it until the divorce, maybe because he wanted to or maybe because he felt like he ought to - he wasn't quite sure. After the decision was finalized he had no need for pretence anymore. What would he do alone with four rooms, a wide parlour, a big kitchen, a dining room and a garden? So he had left his memories behind for good, and opened a new door like one starts a new chapter on a blank page.

“Of course not”, replied Phryne softly. She gently placed her hand on his forearm, and their smiles responded to each other. “I understand.”  
“Do you think…  
\- I’ll help him.” They had spoken at the same time.  
“You don’t have to.”  
\- I have more than enough space here to welcome Hugh for a few nights. Jane’s room is empty now that she is in Europe, but I could also set up the guest room for him until we find a solution. I’m sure…” She paused for a few seconds, and a hint of a smile appeared on Jack’s lips. “I’m sure we can find him a temporary accommodation, at least until he gets better. I’ll talk to Aunt P. first. She knows half of Melbourne’s society and only just ignores the other half - she’ll definitely be able to find someone with a spare room willing to host a young and honest constable.  
\- He won’t…  
\- We’ll find a way.  
\- I’m afraid the wage of a constable will not be able to secure him a room in a castle, Phryne.  
\- Nonsense, Jack! What are relations for, if not for this? You have no idea how many people in this city owe Aunt P a favour… or owe _me_ a favour.” This time, a full smile bloomed on his face.  
\- And believe me Miss Fisher, I’d rather not find out.” With a smug smile and a knowing look, she concluded the matter.  
“Well that’s all sorted then. You can bring Hugh here tomorrow after work.  
\- What will you tell Dot?  
\- Well...” She sighed, her tone suddenly less playful. “It will not be easy, but I think they both need to talk about it. His… mother, his promotion, all of it really. I will just tell her what she needs to know – that Hugh has an accommodation problem and that I’ve offered to help – and I’ll leave the rest to him.  
\- Won’t she feel like it’s… inappropriate, to have him under your roof?  
\- When was the last time you’ve seen me do anything appropriate, Inspector?”  
He shot her a look which hardly concealed his amusement. Best not to answer - and at least, he knew that Phryne would take care of the situation. And with this problem out of the way...  
"I found something for you." Under his fingers, the delicate swallow brooch.

* * *

Hugh had not wanted any of that. His boss's compassion, Dottie's sad eyes, Miss Fisher's extravagant generosity. He was a man! A young one but a man nonetheless, and he did not want to depend on them. It wasn't _right_. How could he aspire to a life on his own if he couldn't manage at the slightest inconvenience? It didn't matter what they thought, and in spite of his gratitude for the lengths to which the Inspector and Miss Fisher had gone to secure a roof over his head, he still felt the sting of humiliation, the burn of failure... the balm of friendship, the soothing remedy of love. The situation was complicated, and after an other talk with the inspector, he'd agreed to take some time off.  


_"You can't refuse this, Collins", had said Inspector Robinson. "Miss Fisher explicitly invited you to stay over at her place for a while, and...  
\- But sir, it's not right. I can't accept this." A heavy silence had laid between them.  
"Collins, I understand. I also understand if you do not want to impose on Mrs. Stanley or on any of her acquaintances. But we both know you can't exactly refuse Miss Fisher's offer.  
\- Sir...  
\- Constable, I will not have you at work if you are forced to sleep in the street, in a car or in a prison cell !" He hadn't meant to shout, really, and Jack's sudden annoyance took them both by surprise.  
This had pretty much concluded the matter though, and before he had a chance to argue, Hugh found himself awkwardly standing in Miss Fisher's parlour._

And now he was in the guest room, in a bed that wasn't his, in Dottie's house. He sighed out loud, again.  
He supposed, the situation was acceptable for a night. Maybe two. And then, he would take the Inspector's advice.  
Some time off.  
Fishing, maybe.  
After that... whatever would come his way, he would figure it out.  
Yes. That was a good plan.  
With that, Hugh hugged the blanket tighter around him, and for the first time in a long while, tried to fully relax.  
He was, after all, a little bit at home.


	3. Aunt Prudence (was a tough woman)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POSSIBLE SPOILER AHEAD FOR CHARACTER DEATH.  
> If you haven't seen the episode 3x05 yet ("Death and Hysteria"), I'd recommend not to read this chapter. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Prudence Stanley was a tough woman.  
> What she had, she had built alone. She firmly intended on keeping things that way.  
> (but of course, she had never expected that unlikely friendships would bloom.)

Mrs Prudence Stanley was a tough woman.  
Strong, stubborn, demanding. She had a reputation, her family had a reputation – and for most of her life she had worked hard to maintain the standards that came with it. Things had never been easy, not ever, not in the slightest. Contrarily to popular belief, she was not born wealthy. Not poor - far from it - but before the war her family had been doing _just fine_ , as people would say nowadays. Growing up she did not have the luxuries she could afford now, the opulence she had been able to raise her sons in. She had married Edward young, and then worked with him so that his business flourished, which allowed them to rise in society and give influence and power to the Stanley name. She had fought, she had struggled, and she had never given up: what she had now, she had built for herself.  
Her dear sister Margaret, however, had not been so fortunate - but Prudence did not want to think about Henry bloody Fisher. She did not need to feel even more distressed by the thought of this decadent, imbecile, incompetent man. 

What she needed now was to carry on. To held her head high, to square her shoulders and to walk through life with the same strength and perseverance she always showed. She was Prudence Stanley and she would not surrender. Not even to death, not even to grief.  
Life gave her a lot, but took from her all the same. Edward, Arthur, Jane. Margaret, to some extent. Guy as well, for the relationship with her eldest and now only son had always been complex. Many friends and family, gone, lost, never to return.  
She would never admit feeling alone, Prudence. She’d come to associate loneliness with weakness, and that was simply out of the question. 

Yet, the vague and unsettling emotion she felt rising in her chest like waves threatening to drown her was real and raw and never quiet. She endeavoured to keep it all firmly shut, to put the heartache in a dark place of her mind where it belonged, but it never felt enough. It was always there, within her, and she knew that there was no escaping herself, no matter how hard she tried to, or how badly she wanted to. It took her at night, before dawn, or in the middle of the day when she would look around and see no familiar face. And though she had gotten better at controlling her emotions, the cracks were always dangerously close to the surface. Not only did she feel it, but what was worse: others could see it. 

Arthur’s funerals had been the worse so far.  
She had rarely felt so alone. 

Guy and his wife were unable to travel back from London under such short notice, and although she knew Phryne would be there, she knew that with Arthur gone she had nothing left of her family, not really. 

And yet… Phryne had showed up, of course, picked her up to go to the funerals. But upon arrival, Prudence was greeted by familiar faces that she had not expected, not for one minute. They weren’t strangers to her, but they weren’t close either and she had never imagined that they would come to her son’s funeral. Her niece had put an arm around her shoulders as she collapsed in tears, because she knew that none of them were here by chance. They were all here because they wanted to. For Arthur. And for her.

They were all gathered slightly away from the crowd, none of them being family or intimate friends after all - but she saw them all the more. The Inspector stood out the most. Even in the graveyard he had that tall, solemn aura – yet it was the look of compassion and pain in his eyes that moved her the most. His constable was at his side, with Phryne’s maid, Dot. They held hands, and Prudence could’ve sworn that the rosy lips of Dot moved in a silent prayer as she wiped tears from her eyes. Right being the young woman, Doctor MacMillan’s presence surprised her. Prudence and the doctor did not share much and their relationship had been somewhat strained since the murder case at the Gaskin factory; yet her niece’s friend stood there with sincere sorrow painted on her face, and Prudence felt a surge of affection for the woman. Next to her was M. Butler who stood straight and dignified not unlike the Inspector, only with more restraint. And finally, she met two pairs of blue eyes that were reddened with tears and grief; two men whose expression of utter sadness broke what remained of her heart. 

They all came to her after the ceremony, Phryne softly asking her if she wanted to come back to Wardlow with all of them. She had denied, of course.  
She had a home to go back to, even though it was now empty.  
Only Arthur’s memory would now accompany her. 

When Albert had hugged her, she had not found the strength to fight it. 

  


* * *

  


Mrs Prudence Stanley was a tough woman.  
But as she sat in her parlour, a scallop pie in the delicate china plate on her lap, Dot on her right holding her hand and Albert on her left gently stroking her shoulder, she felt like refusing to hold back her tears was the toughest, most courageous thing she was capable of.  
“Thank you”, she managed to articulate, and though she did not feel any less distraught, she somehow did not feel so alone anymore. 

  


* * *

  


Mrs Prudence Stanley was a tough woman, which made her hesitation even more silly.  
With a shrug, she let go of her train of thoughts, knocked with the energy of a woman meant to walk the earth to conquer it and smiled brightly when M. Butler opened the red door and went on to introduce her.  
“Aunt P! What a surprise! Please come in!” Phryne, radiant in her elegant silk trousers - which Prudence still found excessively modern - led her into the parlour. “We were just about to sit down to eat. Care to join us?” A spark of mischief was always shining in her niece’s eyes, but it seemed to Prudence that it burned even brighter this day.  
“I didn’t know you had guests, I wouldn’t like to impose.” It was very much unlike her to refuse such invitation, but it suddenly felt too much. It would be most inappropriate: she came to St Kilda to find some peace of mind and have a chat with Phryne and maybe sweet Dot, not to find herself in the company of…  
“C’mon Mrs. Stanley! M. Butler’s been cookin’ all day! We’re celebratin’!” Upon hearing the too-familiar hoarse voice and crooked smile, she frowned on purpose.  
“Celebrating what, Albert? Every time I set foot in this house, I feel like there is a celebration of some sorts going on.  
\- Oi! Celebratin’ life, what else?  
\- I believe that Mr. Yates is going to be a father, said the Inspector behind her.  
\- Oh? Congratulations then, Cecil. And to… Mrs. Yates.  
\- Alice.  
\- Right, Alice.”  
She had not met Cecil's wife yet - or only briefly, but Dot had told her about it once. The two were good friends, from what she understood, although Mrs. Yates seemed to be more sensible when it came to her choice of job, not running around doing police work involving guns, hostages, conspiracies, and all the dangers which Phryne and Dot seemed to be irrevocably drawn to.  
“So, what do you say Aunt P? Should I ask Mr. Butler to set one more plate?”  
She sighed. All eyes on her, broad smiles on all faces.  
“I suppose… Although shouldn’t you be celebrating with the family first?  
\- Aye, Mrs. Stanley. But this is family, innit?”

Shock must have been written all over her features, but before she could respond to this inappropriate comment ( _this_ was not family, _this_ was a nonsensical gathering of people with nothing in common!), a booming ‘pop’ was heard and a champagne smell filled the air. Yielding, she let herself be led to the table and as everyone took place – Phryne, the Inspector, the Collinses, and Cecil and Albert – her heart did something strange in her chest. Beating a little too loud like a wave rising, the feeling was too abrupt to tame it so she let it wash over her. Instead of the expected ache and nostalgia, she felt something altogether different, something soothing, something positive.  
A sense of belonging, maybe.  
Or, she thought as Phryne rose to propose a toast and as everyone cheered the father-to-be, something deeper, more complex, more intimate. Something she wouldn't name for it was too precious to her to be brandished foolishly. But it felt safe enough for her to let go, comfortable enough for her to leave her grief behind and to be fully present, to live in the moment.  
Seated between Dorothy and Albert, listening to the conversations and the laughs, she imagined that if Arthur had still been with her, it’s what he would have wanted.  
For his mother to be happy.

Because happiness was, after all and more than anything else, what made her a tough woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely loved this episode for many reasons - and yes, I cried at the end of it: I found it so moving and so beautiful. I felt so sad on behalf of Aunt P, and for poor Arthur! The kindness of Bert and Cec for Aunt P was remarkable and was a good ground for inspiration.  
> I hope this chapter does them justice, I loved writing Prudence and there'll definitely be more of her in the future. Also sorry for the terrible dialogue writing when it comes to Cec and Bert, I still haven't figured out how to write proper Australian slang !
> 
> And thank you all for the kudos and lovely comments, everytime it makes me happy and fuels my motivation to continue to write.  
> More chapters are on the way!


	4. Jack (and the time where Dot delivered him his mail.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One morning, Dot delivers Jack his mail.  
> Apparently, everyone but him knows he lives in Wardlow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you'll enjoy reading this chapter as much as I loved writing it!  
> The next bit takes place after season 3 but doesn't take into account the events of the movie (which I have not seen).  
> Dot and Hugh are married, Phryne is back from England, and Jack and her are more or less living together.

“Good morning Inspector!  
\- Ah, good morning Mrs Collins.”  
The greetings between them were formal but kind, and it felt just right. Although he had occasionally called her Dot in the past, and although he sometimes still did, the occurrences were rare. It happened mostly when Phryne held parties, when everyone felt relaxed enough, when formalities were abandoned and replaced by a warm feeling of friendship. He also knew first-hand that Dot refused to call him anything but Inspector – Phryne had told him one evening, softly teasing him. Apparently, ‘Jack’ sounded way too familiar for the young maid and she couldn’t bear to call him ‘Mr. Robinson’ – so she had settled on ‘Inspector’ and by the look of things, it would remain that way. And it was fine: the way she always said it was tinted with respect as well as familiarity, and his use of _Mrs Collins_ felt joyful and friendly.

They had never been close, Dot and him, but since her marriage to Hugh and the (considerable) evolution of his relationship with Phryne, they crossed path more often than not: a natural bond had formed between them. Dot was often waiting for Hugh at the station after a long day, and while the young policeman gathered his stuff, she'd have a nice chat with Jack before going back home with Hugh arm in arm. Sometimes she would just deliver a message to them on behalf of Phryne and talk with him about the ongoing cases – and when the circumstances allowed it, she always brought him food. As for Jack, Dot often found him seated at the kitchen table in the mornings, or at the dinner table in the evenings. She found it endearing, that it always surprised him to see her. It took time, but as weeks and months went by, he grew accustomed to her and didn’t seem so… guilty, or embarrassed in her presence anymore.  
Dot liked Jack, for he was kind-hearted and compassionate underneath his dour appearance. She would never forget that the first time they met he had interrogated her like a murder suspect, but overtime she became less intimidated by him and now trusted him as much as the other men in her life – namely Mr. Butler, Cec and Bert. Hugh was obviously a different case.  
Jack liked Dot, for that there was more to her than meet the eyes. She had obviously grown and matured under the influence on Phryne – all for the best. She was clever and sharp, perceptive and intuitive, and she never lost her kindness nor her beliefs. She was the voice of reason and knew how to make herself heard: she was brave but not reckless, soft but not dull, gentle but not naïve. He was very fond of the girl, and was glad that Hugh had someone like her to care for him. They made a lovely couple, and he wished them all the best.

“I have mail for you.  
\- Mail? For me?” He frowned in confusion. Dot smiled softly and handed him an envelope where a delicate hand had written in very legible letters: ‘D.I Jack Robinson, 221B, The Esplanade, St Kilda.’ _Oh._  
\- Is everything alright, Inspector?  
\- Erm… Yes, thank you Dot.” He paused. “I just…” He leaned forward a little bit, his voice low so as to erase any hint of embarrassment that could creep in uninvited. He trusted Dot, but he also knew that there was little that the girl kept from her boss, and he'd rather this matter handled in a confidential manner. “This is not my address”, he stated simply. Seemingly undisturbed, Dot asked silent permission to take the letter. The realization dawned on her and an expression of understanding painted her features before her eyes met Jack’s with a smile.  
“Isn’t it?  
\- No..?” He suddenly hated his interrogative, defensive tone that betrayed him over one mere syllable, so he cleared his throat for good measure. “No, Dot, it isn’t. I don’t live here.” She gave him a look that he couldn’t quite place, with the distinct impression that she was holding back a light chuckle.  
“Well, Inspector…” The ringing of the telephone interrupted Dot, and with a nod, she excused herself. With a sigh, Jack folded the envelope in his jacket and headed out. 

  


* * *

  


Living with Phryne was out of the question, but not living with Phryne was somehow worse. They had reached a compromise, and it had worked perfectly so far. Their relationship was precious and with every passing day they worked their arrangement a little bit better. They did not need to marry, that much was clear for both of them although Jack still held in his heart the desire of being able to call Phryne his wife. His manners were much more traditional than Phryne’s - his drunken speech on the parade of liberal men still made his ears redden in shame whenever he thought about it - and marriage, to him, was sacred. His entire life he had envisioned marriage as the highest form of love and commitment two people could give to each other - body, heart and soul. War had soiled this ideal and when he came back to Rosie the ring on his finger did not bring him the elation he once believed it would. And in spite of him being painfully aware of the truth of oaths and life, he couldn’t help but idealise the sweet idea of a marriage which would bring him a home and a family. 

But what he yearned for the most was for his partner to be his equal. To have a companion in life and in bed, an ally and a friend. He had always held Rosie in such regards and before he was called to fight in foreign lands, their mutual respect had been the ground for many of their dreams - all of them which had shattered, and of which remained now nothing but cold dust.  
Phryne had never waited for him to see her as his equal. She had proclaimed herself as such from the very first time they had met, as she did with the rest of the world. She was everything she wanted to be: fierce, brave, overwhelmingly free and independent. She was his equal more than anyone ever would, because just like him and every other men, she didn’t wait for approval and didn’t expect permission. It was both a thrilling and terrifying thought. Because as much as Jack liked the idea of a modern woman, he couldn’t help but fear for her safety – she had powerful ennemies and in their world, 1920 as it was, many of his peers still could not stand the idea of sex equality. Not to mention her trademark recklessness and impulsivity. Yet he always felt proud, not _of_ her but _for_ her, for who she was as a human being, as a woman, as a friend. Phryne did not need him to be her hero: she was her own and they marched side by side ; she was her own person and he would never, never, stand in her way. He respected her, hell - he _loved_ her far too much for it.

So when she came back from England, he had made a point of honour to declare his feelings unambiguously. He knew what he felt, he knew what he wanted (to be with her) and he had told her as much. Their relationship was built on mutual trust, respect and honesty and coming clean in this regard was important for them both. Though Phryne's lips had not echoed his whispered words, her shining blue eyes had spoken for her and that was all he could have hoped for. She had given him the heart and while they didn’t make any promises, they woke up side by side more often than not. They had managed to keep a low profile: no harmful gossip, no scandalous liaison to be reported. They still worked together and the worst that rumours could do was to insinuate that the Inspector was expected far too often for dinner. (Which was true.)

Yet Jack had kept his own house. It was a matter of sanity for them both, of practicality too but also of pride, for him. Whatever he had with Phryne would not compromise his own integrity nor independence and he would _not_ behave like a kept man. Unmarried, on top of that. There was too much at stake and things between them were not yet quite stable. And although he had (at first) begrudgingly accepted Phryne and Mr. Butler's offers of breakfast most days of the week, he made a point of going home often enough, because it still mattered to him. It was embarrassing enough to have scandalized Dot by... _living in sin_ with her Miss, he did not need to complete that picture. Having his own place was important, it was good, it mattered.  
Which is why he found it upsetting to have his own personal mail delivered at Wardlow.

  


* * *

  


"Collins!" Jack's voice when he entered the station was laced with controlled frustration, and that did nothing to ease his already startled constable. "What happened?"  
\- Sir, we have an other murder, I just...  
\- How come you didn't phone me straight away?  
\- I did Sir, I called at home but you didn't pick up, no, I mean...  
\- _What_ do you mean, Collins?" He watched Hugh's eyes open under his rising panic but kept his impassive expression - it was far more threatening than any other.  
\- I called Wardlow, sir, but you weren't there." Jack's mouth drew a fine line as his darkened eyes narrowed under Hugh's quiet admission.  
\- And would you care to tell me, constable Collins, why on earth did you phone Miss Fisher's home? If I remember correctly I have my own place, in which I live, with a functioning telephone.  
\- I just assumed..." The Inspector only arched one eyebrow. Hugh sighed, defeated. "It's just that most of the time when I need to reach you, you're at Miss Fisher's house, sir. I never call your place first, because the odds are, you're not there. Sir."  
It took Jack a moment to proceed the information. Then, without a word, he entered his office and shut the door firmly behind him - he had a double murder to solved and he did not intend on losing time with such idiotic matters. Surely, it wasn't true. It was merely by chance that Hugh reached him whenever he was at Phryne's... right? He could not possibly spend so much time there that his colleagues would know better than to telephone his own personal home.  
"Should I bring the car around, sir?  
\- Yes, constable. I believe you'll find it in front of the street and not at St. Kilda." He was unnecessarily dry, but it had to get out somehow. He still had his own place, for God's sake! Receiving some of his mail from the hands of Dot, or occasionally Mr. Butler was bad enough, but this was frankly ridiculous. With a deep breath, he took his gun and left the station. He _really_ needed this case to be over: then, he would have a word with Phryne.

  


* * *

  


"Rumour has it you're a little tense." He looked at Phryne who was sitting next to him in the parlour. She was reading D.H. Lawrence in the most nonchalant manner with her head on his shoulder, his arm draped around her frame. He had traced delicate and abstract figures on her bare shoulder with his fingers for the past fifteen minutes, yet abruptly stopped at her comment.  
\- What do you mean?" Both sat up, and Phryne rose her sparkling eyes to meet his.  
\- Apparently, you've been quite adamant that you do not live here.  
\- Phryne, we talked about that. Thousands of times. And no, I'm sorry, but I don't live here. This is your place, not mine, not..." _ours_. The word caught in his throat.  
\- Not ours?" Of course she'd finish the sentence.  
\- No, not ours." Something soft shone in her gaze, and she put her hand on his cheek. She was warm, and he gave in.  
\- I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, Jack.  
\- This isn't the easiest situation, but we both knew it.  
\- Do you regret it?" He drew her closer, drowning in her ocean eyes, until his lips were only a breath away from hers.  
\- Never, Phryne. Not for a moment." He gave her a tender kiss and felt her smile against him. "It's just awkward that everyone seems to believe that I live there."  
\- But Wardlow is your house too, Jack.  
\- Just because you gave me a key doesn't mean it is. Mac has a key," he teased.  
\- I don't have dinner or breakfast with Mac everyday, Jack, nor do I share my bed with her at night" she reminded him with a kiss on the nose.  
\- Point taken.  
\- Then what is it, that bothers you? Don't you feel comfortable here?  
\- Of course I do, you know I do. It's just..." He seemed at a loss for words. "What we have, Phryne, it's unique. And I'm glad that I get to be with you, to live with you most of the time. But it's an odd in-between for me. Not unofficial, but not official either. I don't have the liberty to do as I please, I'm not free as you are. Having people deliver me my personal mail here when it's _your_ name on the door, it's... unsettling. Knowing that my colleagues phone me here before at my place, it's even worse. It's not...  
\- Appropriate?  
\- Conventional." They shared a smile. Then, she detached herself from his embrace and stoop up, offering him her hand.  
"I'm sure we'll figure something out. In the meantime, would you mind it terribly if I were to lead you in some conventional yet inappropriate activities tonight, Inspector?" He took her hand but never his eyes off her face.  
\- Are you talking about a murder investigation, some kind of late night breaking and entering, or about amorous activities? Knowing you, it could be either.  
\- Or both. But no, tonight Melbourne's crime life shall remain undisturbed, but I do intend us to have other kinds of fun. Together. Naked. Now." Her words caressed his ear, her mouth on his neck, and the smell of her overcame his senses. How he loved her, his beating heart would never let him forget. Before she started to undo his tie, he hurried her outside of the room and up in her boudoir. To hell with the rest.  
After all, wherever Phryne was, so was home.

  


* * *

  


“Good morning Inspector.  
\- Good morning Mrs Collins.”  
He was at the breakfast table, tea in hand. He looked a little lost.  
\- Are you looking for something?  
\- I thought Miss Fisher might be around?  
\- Oh I'm sorry, she left early. An urgent appointment, I think, with Jane's school.  
\- Ah. Very well. I shall not overstay my welcome, then," and he put his mug down with a smile.  
\- Actually, Inspector? I have some more mail for you."  
This time, the enveloped only had his name on it, the calligraphy of which he knew only too well.  
"I'll be in the parlour if you need me.  
\- Thank you, Dorothy."  
His thumb traced the letters of his name and he opened it in one swift movement, revealing a short note.

_My darling Jack,  
Sorry I had to leave in a hurry this morning, but you to wake you up even to say goodbye would have been a crime.  
Regarding what you said yesterday - you were right. Having a key to Wardlow does not necessarily means it's your house. So, I took the liberty of making a small modification outside.  
We both know I'm not exactly a reference when it comes to being appropriate or conventional, but hopefully this will ease some of your worries regarding the official aspect of it all.  
That you have your own house does not change a thing. I just want you to know that this our home, if you want it to be.  
Love, Phryne._

He stood frozen for a couple of seconds, then walked straight outside to the front gate. She had indeed made a modification, and he did not even try to fight the wide smile that bloomed across his face. Slowly, he brought his thumb to the engraved letters above the mailbox, and laughed. Yes, he very much wanted it to be.  
Instead of just her name, was now written in a beautiful font 'Phryne Fisher & Jack Robinson'.  
And it felt perfect. 


End file.
